A Bright Future
by Nimarah
Summary: After reading Harry Potter 6, I needed to put a few demons to rest, and did so in this story. This answers the question in my mind as to what's next.


It was the fifth night he had been out of doors, camping in the seemingly endless rain, coldness seeping in like a deadly mist. All the old wounds ached. New wounds ached as well, but they stung more than they ached. Harry Potter stared blankly out into the downpour and tried not to think about Hermione, left a year ago because she had been too badly injured to go on. Or Ron, who had gone off to finish a job, and was now three days late. Or Ginny—here his heart contracted, and he resolutely kept his thoughts away from her. Only one Hocrux destroyed, over these past two years and a half. He needed to focus himself on his job. He couldn't let himself get distracted.

When it was apparent that Ron wasn't going to show up today, Harry tiredly stretched out in the tiny tent and tried to put himself in the half-alert, half-dozing state so that he wouldn't be caught unaware. His wand stayed in his hand, his pack stayed on his back, his clothes and shoes stayed on his body. He had to be ready to get up in a flash if need be. Finally, a semi-conscious state swamped his being, and he dozed off . . .

"'Bout time you got here."

Harry Potter looked around in surprise, to find himself standing beside a young girl, perhaps fourteen or fifteen, only two or three years younger than him at the most. She was lean, red-haired, but her eyes looked disturbingly familiar, and she wore tiger-striped glasses.

"Who are you?" he demanded, whipping wand out and leveling it at her chest.

"M' name's Jenny," the girl said, bored. "That's Sy, behind you."

Harry Potter wheeled to see a lanky boy almost identical to her, only with much darker hair and minus the glasses. Both wore loose jeans and sweatshirts. The boy grinned lopsidedly at him and gave a small wave.

"Why are you here?" Harry demanded, but a curious feeling seemed to steal over him, and he looked around to see he was standing in a warm, dry, snug room—probably the girl's, Jenny's, due to the posters and various pillows. For some reason, he was sure that Sy's bedroom would be full of racing broom models, rare plants, and various animals.

"We brought you here. We needed to show you something." The girl walked to him, disregarding his ready wand, and took his free hand. "C'mon. It won't take that long."

Suddenly, they were outside a castle, much, much smaller than Hogwarts, but very obviously a school, due to kids that laughed and chatted and mingled together. Harry stared in amazement. He had never seen this place before, and he had fairly combed England, France, and Scotland in his searches. But the girl was dragging him to a large clearing.

"This is our pitch," she said, and he detected true excitement in her voice. Sy seemed far more animated, if that were possible; he was circling them, fidgeting, waiting anxiously for them to reach the Quidditch pitch.

Harry looked around, and stared as he watched the team practice above him in the air. Sy spun around in the air around him, fast and impossibly quick, speeding in and out. He was the Keeper, making remarkable saves effortlessly. Jenny swerved through the air, spinning in what Harry could identify as a Seeker's lazy watch for the snitch. The two Beaters zoomed by—a girl and a boy, the boy olive skinned with a prominent nose, and the girl straw-haired with a stick-like frame.

"Ali and Shardae," Jenny said, nodding at the Beaters. "Couldn't have a better lot in their places, ever. Ali's a werewolf, though, which makes it annoying on full moons. A team isn't complete without everyone in their right places, you know?"

Before Harry could respond, the Chasers signaled a timeout and sank to the ground. All three were boys, he could see—two were identical twins, one was a small, short, squat boy that had an easy smile on his face.

"The twins are James and John," Sy said; his voice was in that stage where it broke at odd moments, and he cleared his throat in minor embarrassment before nodding at the small boy. "That's Al."

"The twins look familiar," Harry managed finally, glancing at their blond hair and fair skin.

Jenny nodded. "They would. They're Draco's kids."

Harry started and whipped around, wand out, but Sy stepped in front of him. "I think you ought to know something," Sy said seriously. "My full name's Sirius. Sirius James Potter. That's Jennifer. Jennifer Lillian Potter. Our mother's Ginny Weasly. Our father is Harry Potter."

Harry found his mouth open in stupid astonishment at Sy—no, at Sirius. Jenny rounded on Sirius with a furious flurry of words. "We weren't supposed to tell him yet! We needed him to get used to the fact! You idiot, you blew it out of the water before it could get anywhere! Do you know how long I worked on this spell!"

"Wait a minute—what did you do to me!" Harry demanded, trying to snap his mind into gear. He had already let loose a spell, but Jenny deflected it easily.

"I'll explain if you don't let yourself get too excited," she said coolly.

Harry did not lower his want. "Tell me why I shouldn't use greater hexes against you," he snarled through clenched teeth.

"Because we're your only children?" Sy said hopefully, but Jenny shrugged easily.

"You're the Chosen One, dad," she said calmly. "If you wanted to kill us, you could. In fact, if you want to, you will, no matter what I say. But we have something to show you before you need to wake back up in your body and your timeline."

Harry hesitated. His rational mind was telling him very plainly that the enchantment wears off if the enchanters were dead, but something deep in his bones wanted to listen to this girl whose eyes were like his and this boy whose smile was like Ginny's.

"Alright," he said with a sigh, lowering his wand reluctantly. "Show me what you need to and let me go."

Jenny took his hand and led him up the path to the castle. "That house you saw us in, that's a ways away. That's mom's house. She's a teacher here. So's Auntie 'Mynee. We've tried our hardest to duplicate Hogwarts, but we didn't do anything drastic. No houses or anything. Mother claimed the House system created too much rivalry, and that we had enough on our hands without fighting each other as well. We've got a Care of Magical Creatures teacher; he's Sy's fave. I do best in Charms and Potions, which is how I knew to give you this dream."

Sy stepped ahead of them, through the door, and Harry hesitated. But Jenny didn't allow him the hesitation—she dragged him in after and led him down a cool corridor.

"Mother says it's smaller than Hogwarts, and not as magical or strong, but it's set far away, and is Unplottable, and is in a relatively safe place." Jenny moved to a door and pushed through. "This is the first class in the morning for C class—we have three different schedules, A class, B class, and C class, since we have so many students. It's History."

Harry stared around at the classroom. "Why . . . why do I need to see this?" he asked, glancing at the desks, words and pictures carved with pencils, quills, and wands in the wooden surfaces.

"All in good time," Jenny said impatiently. "Our headmistress, that's Professor Granger, she sometimes teaches this class. Professor Evans, he's a retired Auror, but sometimes the American Committee of Magic, they call him back, so Professor Granger has to fill in. It was in this class we learned about you, and your exploits, and this part of time in your history. Learning it made it easier for me to do, because if it was already written in history, I couldn't really mess it up by doing it, could I?"

"You're . . . you're confusing me," Harry said, taking in the numerous seats, the names, and trying to get his thinking process to catch up with this input of information. "American? Professor Granger? History—where are we, anyway?"

"Canada," Sy said promptly. "Not many castles in America, so Canada."

Harry looked at Sy incredulously. "Why America?"

"Mother ran here, since Voldemort's base of operations was mainly in London. They came here, yeah, but not that big of a threat. Besides, American wizards are very determined to keep him out. Very reclusive, but very, very determined. You've got to give them that." Jenny turned on her heel. "Next class is Potions, and then Charms. Both are taught by Professors Weasly."

In a half-daze, Harry followed her out and down another hallway. She took a side turn and ended up in two large adjoining classrooms. Cauldrons and old books and various ingredients were sprawled about aimlessly—apparently, this teacher did not mind the classroom to be slightly chaotic.

"I always sit there," Jenny said, pointing to a clean desk space by a neat cauldron. "Ali and James are my Potions partners."

"She's sweet on Ali," Sy muttered, and Jenny turned on him, blushing furiously.

"Shut up!" she said, whacking him about the head. "He doesn't need to know _that_. And if he does, he can know that you've been going steady with Shardae for three months! What would he say to _that_?"

The sheer absurdness of it caused Harry to laugh, and laugh, and laugh. He sank into a chair, laughing still. Jenny and Sy crept close to him, eyes worried.

"You okay?" Sy asked tentatively. Jenny whacked him again.

"If he was, would he be laughing hysterically? Harry, can you speak? Should I spell you to end it?" Jenny pulled a wand out of a thigh pocket, but Harry shook his head.

"It's just," Harry panted, catching his breath, "it's been so long since people argued about who was going out with who around me. It was just . . . just very _normal_."

Jenny shrugged her shoulders stiffly, and Sy raised an eyebrow, but they didn't question him further. "Next class we have is Herbology, and then Defense against the Dark Arts. We have lunch after that, and then we have our extracurricular activities, such as Quidditch and the DA, and—"

"DA?" Harry asked, grabbing her arm. "What's that? Where'd you get that from?"

Jenny blinked. "It's a club, where the people practice dueling and learning how to defend themselves. It's recommended if you want to become an Auror. It stands for Defensive Arts, or Dumbledore's Army, or something. I don't remember."

Harry blinked rapidly. Everything was too much, too strange, and he was almost sure he was cracking up. But she let out a cry of delight and pointed. "Look! Professor Weasly got back early!"

Harry turned and stopped dumb. Coming out of the teacher's office was Fred Weasly, an older, leaner, more haunted Fred Weasly, but Fred Weasly nonetheless. Things began to click in his mind.

But Jenny didn't give him time to finish putting pieces together; she dragged him out to another hallway where artwork of varying skill strutted on the walls, or sat complacently, and some didn't move at all. He looked at the array of good and bad, and then Sy was tugging his arm, showing him a picture of very good skill and talent. "That's mine," Sy said excitedly, and Harry could see he was searching for approval. "It won the art contest here. It's a representation of hope, and the dream for a better tomorrow. I thought of it when listening to a story about you."

"It's . . . good," Harry said, truthfully. Sy rocked back, pleased and proud. Jenny sniffed and took him down the hallways.

"That there's the cafeteria, and over there is where the teachers break. We have our own Quidditch pitch outside; you can go out and watch us practice. We're really very good."

"Hang on," Harry said suddenly. "If you don't have Houses, who do you compete against?"

"Other schools," Jenny said easily. "We're the Phoenix Ashes, because our school's name is Phoenix's Tears Boarding School. After Fawkes, or some other famous phoenix. Our main rival is the Ridgeback Flames; we're tied with them in the championship standings. Their school's the H. Potter Flame Boarding School. We're going to win though. They don't have Ali or James and John on their team."

Harry nodded slowly, and the day passed slowly as the two children led him up and down the landscape, showing him the pond where water nymphs lived, and taking him through the forest where unicorns were rumored to live. It was painfully obvious to Harry that they showed everything with the hope he'd approve, and if he showed the slightest disinterest, they'd drop it and try to show him something else. Around them, he began to relax, until finally the sun began to set.

They were standing out on the spacious lawn in front of the castle, watching the sun sink behind the clouds. Finally, Jenny turned to him.

"I promised you an explanation," she said slowly. "I suppose I'll need to tell you fast, because you'll have to return to your body soon. Hermione Granger is the headmistress, our principal, and she's married to Ron Weasly but refused to take on his last name. Her daughter, Nadia, is a year ahead of us. Her younger son, Albus, is in our grade—he's Al, one of our Chasers, remember? Draco Malfoy's three children are in this school, the twins the oldest. He's got a younger daughter in sixth grade. We're the most liberal school ever, giving werewolves scholarships and special accommodations. Quite a few of your friends are teachers here; Fred and George Weasly are our Potions and Charms teachers. Luna Lovegood is our Herbology teacher. Ginny Weasly is our flying and Quidditch coach, as well as our Advanced Dark Arts class. This school was founded on the ashes of the hope that something good can come out of what was happening in Europe, and from those ashes we emerged."

Harry watched her closely. There was no lie in her eyes, or her manner; only eagerness, and sadness as well.

"In history class, we learn all about your adventures, your trials. You're our hero, Mr. Potter. You're our role model. And we are your children. We can't tell you if you survive your quest, because that would alter things too much. We can't tell you when you marry Mom, or when you are joined by Draco. But we can tell you this—in all history books, you are heading down a road of disaster. Ever since Dumbledore died, you lost your ability to love. You lost your ability to like, to laugh, to live. And that is the most deadly and dangerous thing that could happen."

Harry was startled to see tears glimmering in her eyes, and glanced over to Sirius. The boy was sitting on the ground, shoulders hunched.

"We want our father back, Mr. Potter. We brought you here to show you something. We brought you here to show you that there _is_ hope for the future. That good things can and will come. Already we're small prodigies—no brag. I can Apparate, and I'm only fifteen. Sirius is an unregistered Animagus. Both of us excel in certain fields—I'm better at Potions, Charms, Transfiguration, and Defense Against the Dark Arts than he is, and he's better at Herbology, Quidditch, Art, and Care of Magical Creatures. All the others we're good in, too, but those are our best subjects. People are already saying that we will follow in your footsteps. But we don't care what we're doing if you're not there with us."

Harry gazed at her for a long while, and finally she turned away sharply, shoulders tight. "I can't make you live. Like I said, you're the Chose One, dad, and if you're planning to die the minute you fulfill that quest, no one can stop you. But I'm asking you to live, dad. Because even if everyone else left you, we're here, in the future, waiting for you. We're watching for you every day. Maybe one day we'll realize that you're not going to come. Maybe. But we really want you to thin about it. There is something to live for, Harry. Dumbledore's dead, but Albus will be born. Sirius died, but your son will be his living legacy. Your parents are dead, but their names live in us, along with their blood. We're the future, dad. We're the sum of everything you fought for. And we'd like to think that we're important enough to live for."

Harry opened his mouth, looking over the hunched form of Sirius—_my son—_and the tense, tight form of Jennifer—_my daughter—_wanting to say something, to soothe their fears, to tell them that everything would turn out right, but he was fading, and couldn't interact with them anymore. Twilight fell down as the girl and boy's forms shimmered and died away, and suddenly Harry was back in his miserably surroundings, wet, cold, tired, and hungry like before.

He sat up and looked around, but they weren't there. For some reason, his throat closed up, and an inexplicable feeling of loss stole over him. They were gone.

No, no they weren't. With a start he realized that they had never _been_ in the first place. They weren't here yet. They would be, in the future, but for now, he was stuck in this miserable pit, waiting for Ron's report, searching for the remaining Hocruxes. The familiar feeling of despair and dejection rose in him, but a new feeling rose, fought it off, fought it away. He would have _children_. He would be a father to two wonderful children, twins, a boy and a girl. There could be a future still, if he made one.

Suddenly, the rain wasn't as intrusive, the mist no longer as cold, the earth no longer as rocky. Hope had taken root again in his heart, and he would be the Chosen One until the end, making a future for those two sweet-faced children who tugged him this way and that to show him new and different things. He would be Harry Potter, and save the world, and not just because it was his job, but because, in the end, it was worth it. Somewhere back, perhaps when Dumbledore had died, or when he had left Ginny, or when Hermione got hurt, he had forgotten that. But this dream, this _vision_, of what could come to pass had restored it, and for that, he was grateful.


End file.
